


Bed of Roses

by introductory



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Disability, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Post-Canon, Seduction, Things I Wrote In An Hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/pseuds/introductory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Erik <i>means</i> to throw him out.  He <i>means</i> to shout at him, get angry with him, what are you doing here, why this, why now (why did it take you this long).  Instead he says, "Get off my cape."</i></p><p>Post-canon.  Charles shows up in Erik's room with a surprise.  Erik's not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed of Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> Originally written 2011/07/20, remained anon until 2011/08/31. For [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/2439.html?thread=2625927#t2625927) on xmen_firstkink, based on [this semi-NSFW picture](http://i51.tinypic.com/o5dpxk.png).
> 
> My very first story in this fandom, so the characterization isn't quite there just yet. This very clearly starts out as crack, and then takes a sharp left into sappy angst.

Erik really has to start locking his bedroom door.

First Raven, back at the Xavier mansion—and while that was a good bit of fun it was also, in retrospect, a bit of a mistake. It's bad enough to sleep with the sister of your best friend, but it's another thing to have left him bleeding out on a Cuban beach while absconding with his sister to form your militant resistance group and Erik had _apologized_ but months later she was still (perhaps understandably) upset and, honestly, Erik doesn't want to think about this, not right now, not with this sight in front of him—

"Erik," says Charles, smiling warmly up at him from where he's lying on Erik's bed, naked but for a strategically placed bouquet of roses. "It's been quite some time."

Erik stands stock-still for a moment, then finally remembers to shut and bolt the door behind him. " _Frost,_ " he growls, just this side of furious, because this is _Charles,_ this is the one thing that is off-limits and she knows it, "do not play such cheap tricks on me. End this now and I won't have to make my displeasure known when I find you."

"Oh, Erik, it's not a trick," replies Charles, looking like he might _laugh_. Erik just stares incredulously at him as Charles stretches his upper body: long lines of his arms and torso, pink-flushed skin. The bouquet shifts dangerously, threatening to reveal far, far too much, but thankfully remains in place. "Would Emma Frost have ever engineered such an inept seduction?"

Erik _means_ to throw him out. He _means_ to shout at him, get angry with him, what are you doing here, why this, why now (why did it take you this long). Instead he says, "Get off my cape."

"Oh." Charles shifts around some more, pulling the violet fabric out from under him and laying it smoothly aside. "Sorry, I hadn't noticed." Erik looks up, away, anywhere but at Charles's wriggling, naked body. This is decidedly _not_ what he expected to return to after a long day moving freight trains at the railyard. And Charles's wording is, indeed, accurate: there isn't a person alive who would fall for this. But perhaps maybe the incompetence _is_ the method, and Erik's just never bothered to learn what constitutes a good seduction.

"Consider this a return to my roots as a terrible flirt," says Charles, and Erik's panic flares briefly for a moment before he realize he's still wearing the helmet. "Come, Erik, you must be tired, lie down."

"How did you get in?" Erik demands. "I had Janos stationed out front; he would have seen you long before you'd had a chance to touch his mind."

"Ah, see," says Charles, "but not if Raven had relieved him of his guard." He smiles—that same warm smile Erik remembers from months ago. "You didn't honestly think I could have done all this on my own, did you?"

Erik scoffs. "Couldn't you have?"

Something about Erik's words makes Charles's expression go blank, downcast, only for a second, and Erik follows the path of his eyes and it's then that he finally sees it: the wheelchair, sleek and futuristic, that's half-hidden behind Erik's desk. He reaches out to the chair with his senses: constructed from a non-metallic alloy, otherwise he'd have sensed it before he'd even opened the door.

Erik looks down at Charles in something like shock, and Charles just nods.

"Raven knew," says Erik, keeping his eyes fixed on Charles' face. "Raven knew, and she didn't tell me—"

"I told her not to," Charles says, and Erik's temper flares again, briefly, because what right did Charles still have over Raven, if ever he had? "Erik, I knew you would have wanted to see for yourself. And now you can."

"You should have said something," says Erik. His voice sounds rough to his own ears. "I would have been there."

Charles says, "I know." Perfectly neutral: there's nothing in those words, neither resentment nor forgiveness.

"Plastic," Erik says. "Hank's design?", and he means _precautions_.

Charles nods again, understanding. "He didn't want to take the chance," says Charles— _he,_ not _I_ , and Erik feels a surge of—something—in his chest. Those legs that seemed almost tantalizing mere minutes before are now the most undeniable proof of Erik's guilt. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do now.

If he thought it would make any difference, Erik would apologize. But the words _I'm sorry_ , no matter how heartfelt, will never be enough. He takes a step forward, tugs off his gloves, drops them on the desk. He asks, "Why are you here?"

"Take the helmet off and I'll show you," says Charles. Erik hesitates: he would never harm Charles, but there's nothing keeping him from simply leaving the room altogether. But Charles' eyes are blue and so very, very kind, and—

Erik removes the helmet and places it on the desk.

Suddenly Erik's head is filled with his presence: nothing concrete, just abstract, hazy feelings. There's too much for Erik to completely comprehend at once, but for the most part, the gist is clear: Charles wants a second chance, wants to give _Erik_ a second chance, wants this night to be the start of something new. Erik comes back to himself feeling lightheaded and bewildered, and looks back down at the bed, where Charles still lies outstretched, waiting for Erik.

 _Now will you lie with me?_ asks Charles. His smile is sweet and wistful, and Erik wants nothing more than to cover it with his own mouth. He folds onto the bed, kneels over Charles—heedless of the roses, crushing the petals and stems under his weight.

 _No promises, Charles,_ Erik thinks back, _nothing beyond tonight_. It'll have to be enough for now.

Charles leans up on his elbows to kiss Erik, and Erik leans down. It lasts at once forever and not long enough, and when Erik pulls back, he's breathless and so turned on he can barely see straight.

"So it seems the roses worked, after all," says Charles, eyes sparkling.

"You give yourself entirely too much credit," says Erik, and after that there is no more talking.


End file.
